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Really, it was the weather that had caused all the trouble, Sam decided. The rain had made the mud, the mud had tripped him up, and the tripping had ripped his pants. So it was definitely the weather that had gotten him into this mess. He grumbled to himself as he opened his locker, the words almost just serving as noise while he vented to make himself feel better about having to leave the game early.
"Stupid rain. Stupid mud. Stupid budget cuts. I bet if we didn’t keep having budget cuts I’d have a spare pair of pants instead of having to sit out the rest of the game like a-“
"Hello?"
Sam jumped at the sound of the mostly-unfamiliar voice coming from what sounded like the doorway. ”What?” he asked, whirling around. He didn’t see anyone. ”I mean, hello?" He hadn’t meant to come off as rude, but he’d been surprised, and he thought maybe he was just lucky it hadn’t come out a cuss word. "Who’s there?”
"Steve Rogers," said the voice.
Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers. It sounded familiar. Then he remembered. Steve Rogers was Bucky Barnes’s best friend. He went to all the games, and he was even around at practice sometimes, because he’d been Bucky’s best friend for what sounded like nearly forever, but he and Sam had never really spoken before. Steve tended to keep to himself, especially around the football guys, and Sam and Bucky weren’t exactly lining up to join each other’s social groups. (Sam had been hoping to try out for quarterback himself, but Bucky had a rocket for an arm, and that fact that it was his left arm sometimes threw off defenders used to reading right-handed quarterbacks instead. Sam had been forced to settle for wide receiver, and while he was good at it and he enjoyed it, it just wasn’t the same as being the guy in charge.)
"Bucky’s still out there," Sam said after a moment, kicking his feet out of his football pants and his pads. "I mean - it’s only third quarter. The game’s not over or anything."
"No, I - I know that," Steve said, still hidden behind the row of lockers between Sam and the door. "I just wanted to come see if you needed any help. I can probably sew your pants back together in time for fourth quarter. Or if not that fast, at least before the end of the game. You should be able to get back out there."
"Really, man?" Sam wasn’t sure what was more surprising - that Steve had come to find him, or that Steve was actually offering to help.
"Well, yeah," Steve said, "I’ve been painting backgrounds for the drama department’s next play, and I know where they keep all the costume repair stuff."
"Oh," Sam said, pulling his jeans on in place of the ripped pants, "Uh… come in then, I guess?"
"I don’t think I should," Steve answered, "I’m not on the team. And I don’t have the stuff with me, so we’ll, uh, we’ll have to go to the drama room anyway."
"Oh," Sam said again, "Yeah, I guess so." He zipped up his fly and thought about abandoning his jersey and top pads, before deciding that if Steve really could fix his pants up in time for him to play again, it was better to be prepared. ”I’m coming,” he told the other boy, closing his locker behind him.
Steve smiled as Sam walked out the locker room door, a grin that reached his eyes in a way that Sam couldn’t seem to stop watching until the other boy looked away, turning toward the school. As they started walking back to the school building, he realized that the other boy was even smaller than he’d thought, his head not quite making it past Sam’s pad-heightened shoulders.
"So, are you-" Sam said, just as Steve was saying, "You were really-"
"Sorry," they both said in unison.
Steve blushed fiercely, the color darkening across his face and ears, and running all the way down to his neck. It was visible even in the faint light from the stadium. ”Go ahead,” he said.
"Nah, you go ahead," Sam answered, "You’re the one doing me a favor."
"I was just gonna say you were really good out there. I know you and Buck haven’t gotten along perfectly, but you’re still the receiver he trusts most. And, you know, generally the best one out there."
Sam raised an eyebrow, “‘S that why you’re helping me, even though I’m pretty sure we’ve only talked about three times?”
Steve shook his head. ”Nah. I’m helping you ‘cause you needed help." He glanced down, not meeting Sam's eyes, "And you always seemed like a really stand-up guy.”
"Bucky told you I was a stand-up guy?" Sam asked, surprised.
Steve shrugged one shoulder, “I, uh, just kind of figured it out on my own. Bucky doesn’t really spend a lot of time making those kinds of judgments. People have to be pretty bad before he starts caring about more than their football skills.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, “Now, I know that’s not true. ’Cause he’s attached to you at the hip, and you don’t play at all.”
Steve shrugged again, but seemed calmer, glancing up at Sam again. “That’s different. Me and Buck go way back. We’ve been friends since we were 4.”
"Exactly," Sam said, as they walked under the lights of the school parking lot, still headed toward the building. "It’s different. Bucky’s friends with everybody. But he’s friends with you differently. Lets the rest of us know there’s more to him somewhere. Or something like that, I guess. He and I aren’t really friends, anyway, so what do I know?”
"I think you know a lot," Steve said, and suddenly the blush was back.
It was adorable. Sam tried not to think like that around school, where he didn’t know how people would react if they found out he liked boys as much as he liked girls, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never realized Steve Rogers was adorable. He’d been too busy noticing that the other boy was friends with Bucky Barnes.
"Well," Sam scrambled to find something to say that wasn’t ‘You’re adorable,’ "You know how to fix my pants," he finished after a second, "So I think you’re the one who knows a lot right now.”
Steve was still blushing, reaching his hand behind his head to rub at the back of his neck. ”Yeah, well, that’s just ‘cause I rip things a lot. My Ma’s a nurse, so she works long hours and weird shifts and stuff, so I mostly just do all my own laundry and fix things on my own and stuff. She’s great, she’s just busy all the time.”
They had reached the side door that led into the drama rooms, and Steve pulled out a key and unlocked it. Sam raised an eyebrow. ”You have keys to the drama room?”
Steve laughed, “Officially? No. Don’t tell anybody, but sometimes I like to come in early and work on the backgrounds before school, so Mr. Rinney made me a copy.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. ”That’s - kind of awesome. He must trust you a lot.”
"He does," Steve answered, "But he also lives a couple doors down in my apartment building, and he knows my Ma…"
Sam laughed, “Yeah, I guess that would make it less of a risk, huh?”
Steve nodded. ”Little bit, yeah.”
There was an old sewing machine on one of the backstage tables, probably donated by a parent, but Steve ignored it, rooting through a drawer for a sewing kit instead. He started threading a needle with white thread, then waved for Sam’s pants, a thimble on his finger catching the light from the school-room fluorescents. Sam handed them over.
"So, do you do costumes, too, or just the backdrops?" Sam asked, trying to make conversation.
Steve hopped up to sit on the table, then started sewing. ”Nah. I’m no good at working from scratch or anything. And I don’t know how to do much tailoring besides just making hems shorter. Not that school plays do that much tailoring, but no. I’m just the backdrops.”
"So you learned to sew by…"
Steve glanced up, looking sheepish. ”Gettin’ into fights and then trying to hide the damage from Ma…”
Sam’s eyebrows raised, “Steve, if you’re being bullied, you should-“
Steve laughed, and Sam stopped talking, confused.
"Me? Bullied?" Steve answered, "I think Bucky would literally be the death of anyone who tried. And anyway, I won’t stand for bullying. I think you always gotta call it out when you see it, and try to do something.”
"Yeah, but you’re so-" Steve’s face shifted suddenly into a glare that was much more frightening than it should have been on the face of a kid so much smaller than himself. Sam stopped before he could finish saying something stupid. "I mean-" he said, backtracking, "I never heard about you fighting."
Steve snorted, but his face relaxed a little. ”Yeah, well, Bucky’s a little overprotective, and then when things draw attention, he always tries to take the fall. I keep telling him not to, but you know how stubborn he is. Bastard.” He said the last word fondly, and Sam almost smiled.
"Well, yeah, I guess I hear plenty often about Bucky getting into fights. Coach gets mad about it."
Steve sighed, “Yeah, that’s why I tell him to knock it off. If I get in trouble, they’re not gonna tell me to stop doing behind-the-scenes stuff for the plays. They might tell me to stop being in them, but I don’t really like doing that anyway, so I only do it if they really need me. If Buck gets into too much trouble, they’ll stop letting him play football.”
"To be honest, I was kind of hoping for that for a while," Sam admitted, "But that was mean. I got it under control. Bucky’s a really good QB, so I think we probably win more with him doing it."
Steve was looking down again, focused intently on the work in his hands. ”I’m sure you’d be great, too. You’re really athletic.” He was blushing again, and Sam didn’t know what that meant or how to handle it.
He changed the subject back. ”So it’s really you starting the fights and Bucky just… joining in?”
Steve snorted. ”I don’t start fights. Bullies start fights by being bullies. All I do is call ‘em on it. And anyway, sometimes all you gotta do is call somebody on their crap and they stop. And when they don’t, that’s not my fault. So it’s still them starting the fight.”
"So you don’t start fights, you just finish ‘em, huh?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
Steve laughed, “Nothing that cliche. And, I mean, usually I don’t start fights, I just get my ass kicked. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth getting my two cents in. And sometimes I get a couple hits in. But I finished a couple of fights. And I would’ve finished a couple more, if Bucky hadn’t meddled.”
"Right," Sam nodded, "Because Bucky’s overprotective. Is that why you never get into fights with football guys? Bucky won’t let you?"
Steve snorted, “Bucky doesn’t let me do anything. I do what I want. But I know if I got into a fight with one of his teammates he’d get torn up about it, and I don’t wanna put him in that position. He’d have to pick between me and his responsibilities to the team, and that’s not fair. I mean, sure, there are a couple of guys on the team I’d love to run into without Bucky around, so I could tell ‘em what I think of ‘em, but I think he knows I'm waiting on that. I have turned a couple of ‘em in to the teachers, though. Which works, I guess, but… it’s just not as effective as saying ‘Hey, see this thing you’re doing right now? It’s a major asshole move.’ And half the time you tell a teacher some kid’s being disrespectful of somebody, they don’t care. Like it only counts if there’s hitting or something. A couple of the teachers are good about things, but it’s hard for them to make the system work that way.”
Sam snorted, “Well, if you change your mind, pick a fight while I’m around. Bucky and I don’t get along, but I’d sure as heck take his side in a fight against some of those guys. And I have a feeling I’d take your side in just about anything.”
Steve blushed fiercely, and Sam realized he’d gone a little farther than he maybe should have. He blushed too. For a few moments, the room was silent except for the clicking of the needle against the thimble. Steve really was fast, and faster now that he was looking down, not meeting Sam’s eyes or distracted by talking to him.
"I mean," Sam tried to clarify, "I owe you, right? You’re fixing my pants." But that wasn’t what he’d meant at all, and he couldn’t quite let himself pretend it was, "And bullies are terrible," he blurted, "I’m all for stopping bullies." That was a little better. He felt better about it. They started to talk again, about nothing much, but Sam couldn't quite let go of the feeling that he'd made it more awkward than it had been before.
It was a relief when Steve finished fixing the tear and they could go back to the stadium.
At the door to the locker room, Sam’s mouth ran away from him again. He started with a completely intentional, “Hey, thanks again, man. I really appreciate it. It sounds like there’s still a little game left to play.” Then it got out of hand, “You know, we could hang out, after.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. ”Really?”
"Or, you know, some time" Sam said, "We should hang out some time." That was better. "We could have coffee." That was not better. Coffee sounded like a date. Did coffee sound like a date? Did he mean a date? Steve was adorable and Sam liked him, but… could he really do that? He realized suddenly that he didn’t even know if Steve liked guys, and then it was all too much. ”I gotta go play!” he blurted out, almost running into the locker room.
This time, Steve followed him, looking awkward, but with a glint in his eye that Sam thought might be the way he looked before he picked a fight. Or got into one, anyway. ”Coffee sounds great,” Steve said, “It can be victory coffee, after the game. I’ll ditch Buck. He won’t mind.”
Sam turned around. ”Really?”
Steve nodded, blushing furiously again. ”Yeah. He’ll understand. ’Cause it’s you.”
Sam had to look away, “I didn’t think he liked me.”
“He doesn’t.” Steve said it quietly, but Sam still heard it. He felt himself blushing almost as hard as Steve was.
Steve cleared his throat, “Umm, anyway. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks around the block. Most of the guys go out for pizza after the game, so it’ll be quiet and we can, uh, talk or whatever.” Then Steve was half-running through the door, just like Sam had, and if it weren’t for the faint sounds of the game still going on, Sam might just have followed him.
It was hard to focus on the game as he stretched on the sidelines, trying to warm back up enough to go in before the game ended. He kept glancing over his shoulder into the crowd, looking for Steve. Then, when he finally found the smaller boy, he had to look away, because Steve was watching him and he didn't want to get caught looking.
He didn’t really refocus until Bucky came up behind him, slipping an arm around his back and leaning into his shoulder to growl, “I see the way you’re looking at Stevie - you break his heart and I won’t throw you another pass all season. Got that, Wilson?”
Sam was flabbergasted, “What? I mean - yes? He, uh, he seems nice and I'm not planning to hurt him?”
Then Bucky smiled, face going from menacing to sunny in an instant. ”Good! I’ve missed having you out here. Dernier already dropped like 3 passes. But hey, my loss is Steve’s gain, huh?”
"How did you know-" Sam started.
Bucky rolled his eyes. ”I’m not dumb, Wilson. And anyway, I know Steve. If I were gay, I’d love Steve. I think anybody’d love Steve, if they got a chance to talk to him.”
"I’m not gay," Sam protested weakly.
"Fine," Bucky answered, "If I were bi, I’d be in love with Steve. Now get your head in the game, ‘cause I’m gonna need to throw you the ball.”
Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. He cleared his head for a second, and then managed an “Ok.”
Bucky walked away, but not before Sam could hear him mutter, “I told Steve that crush wasn’t dumb” under his breath. He didn’t think he’d been meant to hear it. But then the whistles were blowing and they were back on the field. He couldn’t help glancing back toward Steve on his way back to the huddle after his first catch got them a first down. Bucky rolled his eyes again, but it seemed almost affectionate. Maybe Sam and Bucky could get along after all.
This whole thing with Steve was a bigger surprise than his ripped pants had been, but he was considerably more hopeful about it.